


the dredges of today paves the path for the glory of tomorrow

by Rjona



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss, Implied/Referenced Shadowgast, M/M, Post-Episode 128, Sendings, Spoilers for Campaign 2 Episode 128, Warning: Trent Ikithon in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rjona/pseuds/Rjona
Summary: Four days have passed, and the fleeting essence of light hadn’t left Essek’s eyes yet.Four days, and a warning.Vitriol trickled down his back, burning away flesh as it wormed into his heart.But Essek wasn’t going to let this stop him.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss & Jester Lavorre, Essek Thelyss & Trent Ikithon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	the dredges of today paves the path for the glory of tomorrow

It had been four days since the Mighty Nein had left, and four days of radio silence from their end. On the northern side of the globe, Essek had mustered up whatever information he could glean from current records present in the outpost, and through favors made to Uraya. A problematic affair to utilize, but one the drow was willing to use, if it meant the safety of his friends. 

The nights in Eiselcross during the end of Brussendar were few and far in between; the moon only occasionally dipping out of the darkness to cast its gaze on those who dwell on the tundra. And so even when his internal clock signaled for the day to be nearing its downfall, he could see the star of fire warm and bright in the horizon. 

It was painful to look at, but after four days of having glimpsed at his sun once and not again—he found himself willing to endure the pain, just to be reminded that… that they came back. For him, one way or another. That despite the night that bloomed like a chasm between them since that ship, the sun eventually rose in the cold tundra of nevermore. 

It was perhaps… expected, then, that his day wouldn’t be peaceful. It never had, since their departure. Brief anxiety had consumed him as he burnt his energy to consume whatever knowledge he could amass, whatever help, whatever power he could provide once they were ready and came back. 

_ If  _ they come back, his mind unhelpfully supplied. 

Surely, they would. Eventually. They made it clear that this was either life or death, safety or insanity, reality or delusion. The Mighty Nein… his friends… amazing, breathtaking people that wagered peace between two nations, defeated a cult in shattering the shackle of a bygone deity, and made the world brighter with their mismatched colors—would surely come back to the frigid cold, where death seemed like an imminent entity whose arms were open to welcome you with an embrace. 

Oh, how sweet would an embrace feel right about now. 

Essek sighed, and despite the warmth of his abode, his breath still came out in white puffs. Watching the sun’s rays flicker and glean against the white of the snow brought a certain kind of peace that he knew was simply the calm before the storm. 

He closed his eyes, and a part of him prayed. Prayed for… maybe another conversation, from a certain tiefling. Maybe a simple message, from a certain human. Or maybe even the presence of seven, motley individuals. Essek was by no means a religious man; but for his friends? He’d pray to any deity, as long as they answered him. 

And… he  _ was  _ answered. 

There was the telltale ring in his ear, the softening of the sounds of reality as his mind honed in on a voice from afar, and before he knew it—Essek was already smiling. A brief hope sparked in his chest.  _ Could it be—? _

“ _ I see we have a student in common, Thelyss. _ ”

Essek flinched so hard he thought he was dropped into the Frigid Depths. Cold rushed through his veins, and it wasn’t from the climate as acid dripped from his mind and downwards his spine. 

“ _ You should have told me you were acquainted with something of mine, _ ” there was a laugh, a laugh so insidious Essek wanted to throw up, and before he could reply he felt the Weave bend the sound in his head as if it was a snake shedding skin. “ _ How… interesting, to see you  _ **_share_ ** _. _ ” And oh, how  _ rancid _ , the way Ikithon spat it out. 

“ _ Unfortunately… _ ”

Essek’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the handles of his chair. Sweat trickled down the side of his cheek, and suddenly, he felt like he was at the river of lava in the midst of Eiselcross instead. 

“ _ I am  _ **_not_ ** _ of the same sentiment. _ ”

Confusion rose in his mind. Something of his… a student, in common—

A snake shed its skin once more, this time, with the renewal of venom. 

“ _ Soon enough, he will return to me. And perhaps then, your unspoken knowledge will finally be a boon to our agreement. _ ”

Fangs sunk into the back of his neck, jolting his spine with electricity that nearly made him hiss, had he not known who he was talking with. Suddenly, his cloak felt too warm for comfort. 

“You don’t have a claim to him anymore,” he snarled, but for a moment, his heart stuttered in his chest. Hesitation flashed in his eyes. Was he sure—? 

But then he remembered. The haunt in his eyes, the love he was capable of giving out with his friends, the warmth and comfort no property of Ikithon could ever provide—rose to his mind like the water after a drought. Something so gentle and kind, would never return to vitriol that would melt flesh and bone. 

And Essek’s hesitation vanished. 

“You can’t share, what is not  _ yours _ .” 

Essek cut it there. Severed the connection with a sharp precision he possessed only in the darkest of dungeons, dealing with individuals of twisted origin and false upbringing. 

But what was Trent, if not acid persevering, rancidity willing to endure metal and stone if it meant corrosion and degradation?

“ _ Ah-ah, but you don’t know, do you? _ ” A smile, a sneer. A taunt and a tut, as if talking to a child. Unseen, but present. So present, that Essek wished he could reach past the Weave and crush him with an event horizon’s worth of force, if it meant dispelling the sudden dread that bursted in his stomach like a balloon filled with frigid water. 

There was a pause, and if Essek hadn’t abhorred Trent before, he did now. That man lauded himself of his needless dramatization. 

But he couldn’t deny it. The fear, the dread. The anticipation, and the rising panic. Essek’s throat bobbed with unspoken worries, of the urge to send harried words. He glanced up the ceiling, hoping with gritted teeth that no eye was glaring down at him, curved in a nefarious sneer as they witnessed his breaking down. 

His hands yearned for something to squeeze. He forced his body to calm down, for his heart to slow in its thundering beat, for his breath to settle and not cause a fog. 

“ _ Those bonds never broke. _ ” 

Or, to be more precise, in Essek’s ears— _ the chains had never been broken.  _ For what was Ikithon, if not a vengeful wraith, adding more manacles to your wrists, your ankles, your neck and your limbs, if it meant keeping you secure under his grasp? 

Essek had only  _ glimpsed _ upon those metal links once, in person, as through coercion he was forced to impart with magic he refused to give—after all, the deal was  _ never  _ that. It never had been, and Essek never wanted it to be. 

Vitriol trickled down his back, burning away flesh as it wormed into his heart. 

His breath came out in fast huffs, his hands  _ shook _ —but nothing could override the burn of rage as it shot up his back and steamed in his ears. His eyebrows furrowed and he could feel his expression contort into a snarl he never thought he could manage before, but now? Now, as an image unwittingly flickered in his mind, of an old, jaundiced man laying his hands wreathed with iron and thorns on a sun dimmed from his shadow?

Now, against a man who threatened something so dear, so  _ personal _ ? 

This wasn’t just about magic. Not just about the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon for a new day. 

This was war, waiting to be unleashed. Of anger, needing to be released. 

_ Nothing—nothing of that kindness, would be weak enough not to break those bonds you speak of,  _ he hissed in his mind. “You’re blind to those that have eluded your grasp, Ikithon.” 

He huffed, with a roll of his eyes. “Keep dreaming your delusions. None of them will come to fruition.”

There was another attempt, of a snake hissing and lashing at his throat. A scoff. “ _ We’ll see about that. May fair weather find you,  _ **_Essek Thelyss_ ** _. _ ” 

He didn’t respond to that. 

He left the connection unanswered. Fizzling, until it was nothing but a figment of someone’s imagination. 

But then something sparked in his mind. Something, a reminder—of haunted eyes, of scarred wrists, of deep tones and blood spewing out a clavicle as Essek crushed the Scourger with magic not meant for that purpose—and a switch flipped inside of him. 

Puffs of white clouded his vision as Essek curled into himself, eyes wide and flashing with arcane energy as he waved his hand about—raking, searching,  _ scouring  _ for any wayward eyes that dared to glimpse upon his form. 

Nothing. 

Nothing, and he was alone. 

He was alone, and that was not good. 

Jester hadn’t messaged him. 

He was alone, and his mind was empty. He couldn’t hear any lilting voices, nor the cheerful curl of a word, or a comedic pause as words were being thought of in the moment. 

He was alone—and what if they were too?

Essek inhaled sharply, ignoring the stab of frigid air straight into his throat as he found himself tracing a familiar symbol of damnation should he attempt it in the Biting North. 

...He didn’t even know where they were. And Ikithon could be anywhere. 

Scrying would take too long. Too much. 

He could—what could he do? 

_ Message _ . He could message, like she always had, like how he wanted, for her voice to fill his mind and his voice to reach out as if nothing was wrong—

But something  _ was  _ wrong, and he found himself aborting his sigil as he traced another rune in the air. Never mind the sudden onslaught of illusory butterflies in his peripheral, he had to Send,  _ now _ . 

But to whom?

Before he could think about it, before he could shift target, the magic that almost erred—sensing the yearning of the sun he always wished to see since that dinner—had shot directly to the person on the forefront of Essek’s mind. 

“Caleb—! Please tell me you’re okay. Ikithon—he sent a warning. An omen. Where are you?  _ What did you do _ ? What happened? Please—” 

All those words left his breath in one fell swoop, as if Beauregard had sent a strike straight to his lungs to rid him of the air he breathed. Something pricked at the edges of his eyes, and he refused, he  _ refused _ , to let his vision be clouded now. 

He waited, for a response. 

But he didn’t realize, immediately, that the spell never connected. 

“Oh no,” he breathed, choking on a lump that refused to go down. Bile crept up his throat, his body shaking because  _ why _ — _ why, why, why?! _ Where were they?! Where was—

A memory surfaced in his mind. Of woodsmoke and parchment, of a touch cold yet searing. Of a gaze impersonal, yet intense. Of a voice firm, yet steadying. 

_ “Just breathe.” _

Of a hand, against his cheek. 

Essek took a deep breath. He could do this. He was fine. He needed rationality. Rationality, and words. He… he should pick another target. Maybe they were just in a compromised situation—maybe, maybe—

Essek buried his head in his hands. 

_ “Just... breathe, that fresh air.” _

Essek breathed. Once. Twice. 

Again, and again—

Until his mind could now suffice. 

He opened his eyes, brought up his head, and traced a sigil into the air. His fingers were shaking slightly, but that was okay. He was okay.  _ They  _ would be okay. He thought of a clearer picture of his target in mind; of horns curling around to the sides of her head, of hair tumbling slightly longer, of a white elaborate coat. 

The smell of childhood invaded his nose, of the smell of an abandoned office and a stack of parchment, and the message  _ sent.  _

“Jester—” he barely managed to stop himself from gasping. He composed himself, closing his eyes and drawing a  _ breath _ . He could do this. “Where are you? Are you safe? I heard… a warning, from Ikithon. How is everyone…?”

He did a head count of the words he had already spoken. 

“Did he hurt you?”

Five more. 

He licked his lips, sweat lining the fur of his coat.  _ Should he—? Could… could he…? _

He shut his eyes. Now was better than never. 

“I miss you. Stay safe.”

There was… fear, as Essek didn’t open his eyes and waited, painstakingly, as the seconds passed—expecting another disconnect—

But whatever deity that  _ did _ answer his prayers… 

There was a gasp from the other side. Surprise, happiness, and shock all mingled into one. And then a sob. 

“ _ Oh, Essek… we’re so sorry, _ ” and he flinched, at how she sounded like she had been dragged through the dredges of despair. “ _ We’re at… the Fire Plane. Will be back tomorrow. Can’t explain. Don’t worry. Tapped. _ ”

The Fire Plane. 

They were at… the Fire Plane. 

_ How.  _ In the world. 

A laugh started to bubble out of Essek’s lips, but then—

“ _ We love you, Essek… stay safe. _ ”

His heart clenched, painfully so. A laugh startled out of him, and then a tear, and then a sob—as he curled in on himself and shuddered the shudder of a body shocked with warmth from so far away. 

A sigh escaped his lips. 

They’re not with Ikithon. 

They’re… safe, in a way. Anywhere away from Trent. Anywhere… mayhaps, would be fine. 

They were safe. 

And he, he felt, would be too. As long as they were. 

He straightened himself, wiping the tears away. A quick prestidigitation here, and no traces were left. Tomorrow, they could be safe. Tomorrow, they could—perhaps—see one another once again. 

Tomorrow, would be the day the world’s reckoning might come at last, should the Mighty Nein return to the world where he walked. 

He stood from his chair, his eyes casting out to the horizon beyond. 

There were more important things than acid and rancidity. Than delusions and fears. He hated the way chains were wrought around the light he loved, but that—that was okay, for now. They could stomach the tightness, if it meant enduring for the benefit of all. 

They had a world to save. 

And Essek was going to make sure they would be here to do so. 


End file.
